Taken by the Aurelian Warriors

me feel so small and powerless. It’s the same tendril of shame and insecurity that had always welled up in me as I’d read about Aurelians – only amplified now that they’re standing below me in the gleaming, white flesh.
To look at the three of them with my own eyes? It’s as though the human Gods made Aurelians in their own image – or, perhaps it was the other way around.
In any event, we humans might as well have been molded from the crumbs of clay left over after crafting the Aurelian race.
Down below, my father addresses them. I can’t make out the words he says, but the three Aurelians pause as they hear them. After a moment’s deliberation, the leader of the three warriors nods his head – and then, as one, they lift their hands slowly upward.
Two of the Sentinels step forward slowly, taking the Orb-Weapons and the rifle from the Aurelians. The robot’s movements seem slower than normal – and I know it’s not possible, because they’re just machine, but it’s almost as if the automatons themselves are nervous to approach the warriors.
I lean against the glass for a better look as the Sentinels take the Aurelian’s Orb-Weapons.
I’ve read about these legendary devices – but all I can see of them is a bone-like hilt. There are no blades or cutting edges – at least, no visible ones…
But I know that’s how it’s supposed to be. The Orb-Weapons are currently deactivated. If I’d been looking at one powered up, it would bode poorly for Gerard and my father; as Aurelians rarely draw their weapons unless they intend to kill somebody with them.
I’m fascinated by Orb-Weapons. They’re hand-crafted and can come in almost any form imaginable. Most Aurelians prefer Orb-Weapons designed to resemble swords, but others have maces, axes, and all manner of different implements of violence and death.
In the heat of battle, the cutting edge of the Orb-Weapons are supposedly willed into existence at the mere thought of the Aurelians who wield them – as if they will the weapons into existence. That would require a sort of communication I don’t want to think about.
The blades of the weapons themselves are made of pure energy – and yet, at the same time, they have an actual, cutting mass when brought to life; as if the core of Orb-Material brings something from nothing pulsing into deadly life.
Right now, though, the weapons are dormant – mere hilts as the Sentinels take them in their stark, mechanical claws.
In that book on Orbs, I read that some scholars postulate that the Orbs themselves have some weird kind of base cunning – an awareness. As I said, half of the contents of that book sounded like conjecture; but if that little tidbit was true, it terrifies me. When not powering some great space-faring vessels, Orbs are only ever used for violence – as an Orb-Weapon, or a lethal Orb-Beam.
Any awareness those Orbs have, therefore, would be a malevolent blood lust.
That makes it even more surprising to see the Aurelians give up their weapons so easily. Their species is supposedly wedded to their blades.
My brain races with these thoughts. I’m drawing from the analytical portion of my brain – relying on the wealth of knowledge I’ve pored through about Aurelians. I’m using facts and reason to work things about – because, if I didn’t, I’d have nothing else to stop myself from panicking at the mere thought that my father just invited three brutal alien warriors into our home.
Logically, I know the Sentinels could rip them apart in seconds – but logic doesn’t explain why the Aurelians don’t seem to care that they could die at any moment. That nonchalance in the face of danger? It makes me wonder just how powerful our Sentinels truly are.
Down below, my father waves his hands. I strain my ears, and I can almost make out his words through my barely-open window. The leader of the Aurelians shrugs, and then they pull off their armored flak-jackets in addition to surrendering their weapons.
I’m not sure why my father is insisting on this step – those jackets couldn’t have stopped a high-velocity rifle slug from one of the Sentinels in any case – but I suppose my father simply isn’t taking any chances.
Beneath their jackets, the three Aurelians are wearing tight, black t-shirts.
My eyes widen. I can’t help but stare. The Aurelians just so... powerful. Through the thin fabric of their tightly stretched t-shirts, the thick, corded muscles of the warriors is clearly outlined – without even a single ounce of fat, if what I can see with my own eyes is to be believed.
I swallow, imagining what their bodies must look like underneath those t-shirts. I can already make out chiseled abs and straining pectorals through the fabric that so tightly hugs their muscles.
I’ve seen muscular men before – but these aren’t the kind of muscles born in a gym. These are muscles from combat – functional and lethal. If On Aurelians is correct, any of those three warriors could easily weigh over five-hundred pounds – and barely a scrap of it would be fat.
But their most alien feature isn’t their massive size. It’s that pure white, beautiful ivory skin. Now those jackets are off, and the hugely muscled biceps and forearms of the Aurelians are bare, their skin practically glows in the sunlight.
They look like angels, the way they glow. They could have descended from the Heavens to arrive here today.
How would a God feel, if he came down from up high and into the realm of man? Surely, it would be arrogance he’d feel – just as Aurelians are by nature haughty and arrogant.
Can you blame them? By the standards of the Old Earth philosophers, perhaps they are Gods. After all, Aurelians live thousands of years – compared to humans, that truly is God-like. Or, at least, demigod-like.
I’ve devoured everything I could read on Aurelians, so I’ve learned of their haughty arrogance – how they look